White Light
by Wolfstorm7
Summary: The curtains swing in the open breeze, and he longs, in the pit of his chest, behind his stitches, for something he can't put words to.


This movie was so magical and I maybe sort of did not not cry my face off?

Alright, let's just jump right to it:

~oO0OoO0OoO0Oo~

* * *

The light is soft and white and settles on his eyelashes as he blinks. Crisp pillows shift under his head; a bird chirps. He lets out a little unintelligible noise, a sort of bewildered groan, and peers around the room. Where is he?

The curtains swing in the open breeze, and he longs, in the pit of his chest, behind his stitches, for something that he can't put words to. There are shadows playing on his windowsill. He watches and watches until the sun goes down and the nurse comes in, and shuts the window. He feels disappointed, for some reason. Then he sleeps.

He wakes again with the white spots on his eyelids, and the breeze coming through the window. This morning he shifts himself upright and stares at the gently waving curtains, enthralled in a way he can't explain. He calls the nurse in.

"Was there someone just here? A visitor?"

"Your mother just visited," says the nurse. "You were asleep, though."

He thinks he's been here four days, but he asks just to make sure.

The nurse smiles. "You're on your fifth night here, and you'll be able to leave tomorrow. I've never seen such a miraculous recovery. Your body must have something to live for."

With a shrug, the boy says, "I think I'll have a visitor later. Please leave the window open."

Lights pulse and birds chirp, and he waits for a friend. He pushes away the memories of dull pain and the clatter of tools on a tray like he's pushing aside a gauze veil, and there she sits, behind the veil. She gasps in surprise. "You're back!" He hides her in the palm of his hand. She's tiny, delicate.

He jerks awake from his lovely dream and the tubes suck at his arm in protest of his sudden movement. The white light burns the backs of his hands from the open window – he can't even see the trees outside, because the sun glows so brightly. The sound of birds wafts inside, past the shadows that darken the ends of the white curtains. He moves his hand as if in a dream, as through honey, and everything feels sharp and warm.

A little bell tinkles in the hallway, and he turns slowly, putting his hand in his lap. At the door, a girl stands hesitantly, and when they lock eyes it's as if he's forgotten everything else. "Arrietty?" he whispers. But it can't be; she's tiny, not the same size as him. How could she be standing at the door, when he expected her to come through the window?

She runs to him and crushes his hand in hers, bringing it to her face and rubbing it against her cheek. Their fingers slip together perfectly, as if molded together, created as a pair. He doesn't understand. All he knows is that she is with him, and she can hold him, and she is _with him_. She kisses his eyelids with lips of a normal size, her hair tickles his face. He hugs her and doesn't hurt her. They are equals, finally, and as much as he'd like to be big for her, being equal is more _real_. He would like to protect her. But he would also like to hold her.

She's crying; he can feel her shaking. But she leans over him again, while he whispers that everything will be alright, not to worry; he is surviving and can not die while she is with him. Her tears burn white on his face, and he feels the power in them. The cool power trails down his neck, into his veins, and wraps around his heart.

"Magic," he tells her. He thinks about it. "Was it the tears?"

"I don't know," she says. "But I'm here now."

"How long can you stay?"

She hugs him, and he rests his head on her shoulder. He stares at the window, where a white world revolves, and white curtains wave. No shadows at all. There's nothing outside, nothing at all.

"Arrietty," he cries, and he's afraid.

* * *

Sho's mother holds her son's hand as he murmurs a name, and his eyes dance widely under his eyelids. The mother's face is dark from lack of sleep.

"I'm not sure how much longer we can sustain him," says a nurse. "You need to think about disconnecting him. It will be painless."

But Sho's mother can't remember when those words were said. Maybe the nurse was here an hour ago; maybe just a moment ago. The white clock on the wall has little blue hands that never seem to move. When they do move, they jump sporadically, with the sound of a far-away train. Those who are sick are falling into a time vortex of dreams and medicine, and as she grasps Sho's pale hand, his heavy body drags her further and further into the pit.

He's been in a coma for almost five weeks, after the heart operation. Even before, they had had their concerns – the medication that he took while at her sister's house had made him mad. He'd seen things in the corners of the old house. Little people.

He's slipping, tossing, turning. She tries to hold on but her hands are sweaty.

The doctor comes in at some point and tells her that her son is dreaming. "It's a good dream," says the doctor, giving her a long, sad look, and she knows that he means, "Now is the time to let him go." But she can't. Not yet.

She touches his hair and apologizes for never being there, never being there when he needed her. She never protected him. Oh, how she regrets.

* * *

He sits atop a massive stone, swinging his legs in the sunlight. Arrietty's behind him, he can feel it.

"So now you're small again," he says.

"So are you," she says. She sits next to him, leans into him, and rests her head on his shoulder.

"It's like Alice in Wonderland," he whispers.

"What's that?"

"A storybook. Alice grows big, and then small, and goes through a tiny door in the wall."

"She has magic, like us," she says.

He shrugs, a bulge in his throat. Flowers the size of trees wave around the rock, and he know he's been on this rock before. He's been in this garden before, when he and she first met, when he was big and sick and she was little and fragile. But now somehow they are different.

"Do you think I'm in Wonderland?" he asks.

She starts to smile, but then it dawns on her what he is asking, and she turns her face away from him. They draw breaths at the same time; their shoulders rise and fall in sync. "Not yet," she says quietly.

"But soon," he says. "Because everything comes to an end, eventually."

The forest of flowers trembles in the breeze, and Sho picks a stray loose hair from Arrietty's shoulder, and lets it fly. She lies on the rock and rests her head on his right leg, staring out at the pale blue horizon. As the day grows old and cool, she sits upright again and he puts his arm around her. Dusk falls and the breeze still plays gently with the flowers. At last the sun bows at the horizon, skimming the last of its rays across the heads of tulips and daisies, and they turn to each other.

"Goodbye, Arrietty," he says. Their hands fit perfectly together. She's crying softly, and he wipes away her tears. "Don't cry, please."

"But it hurts," she whispers.

"I know." The sun burns to a coal on the horizon and he feels betrayed by the way it glows. He only wanted to protect her, and here she sits, crying, hurting, fading. It's all fading now. Arrietty seems to realize this, and holds Sho tighter, but the world is growing light, and his head airy. He floats away from her, their clasped hands separating in a dreamy sort of movement. She grows smaller and smaller as she spirals away.

* * *

The white curtains sigh with the breeze. Outside, thousands of wildflowers bob. The blue hands of the clock on the wall jump and spin, dancing with the sway of the curtains. He breathes out, and then in. A soft, pale light fills his chest, right behind the stitches.

* * *

~oO0OoO0OoO0Oo~

It'd make me quite happy if you left a review. Hope you enjoyed.


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